Hearts and Sparkles
by Glastea
Summary: One of many holidays celebrated in the Land of the Dead, over the years... Holiday fic series.
1. Chapter 1

**Hearts and Sparkles**

A/N: Well, it had to be done. A nice series in credit to Valentine's day. It's a trilogy of stories that'll turn up along this week: I have extra time to write, and it will be on time. Here to cheer everyone up who maybe isn't going to be receiving the joys of bright pink cards and hearts. Enjoy!

**0-0-0-0-0**

There weren't many festivals celebrated in the office. The Day of the Dead was, of course, statutory, and they'd probably all troop out to a Christmas party just to see how Manny was going to make a fool of himself this time: it got better every year. However, one of the smaller ones, only celebrated if you had the good luck to work on the top floor, was Valentine's Day.

It was, all in all, nothing special. A spattering of an ego boost or (more probably) a blow to any self esteem you had left when you discovered that, walking into your office early in the morning, there was no capsule waiting to be opened with some kind of device inside that declared another skeleton's undying love for you.

Manny and Eva had a custom of swapping said pleasantries just because they could. Not cards, lockets or anything, but a slip of paper with some kind of derogatory yet endearing message inscribed on it. Last year, Manny received something to the point of 'your report's late and Copal's kicking up a stink, hun.' He of course, replied back, asking when her computer was being delivered. Somehow, it was easier to be able to use the message tube system then get yourself off your chair and walk outside into the corridor.

But, it was that time of year again, and everyone was getting ready to brace themselves for whatever would be hitting them next. For some reason, death rates seemed to rise dramatically around that time of the year: people insisted on throwing themselves off the highest structure near to them because they hadn't got a flimsy paper card (with flowers on it, for that matter- what kind of message did that give out?), plus false sentiments and tacky fake jewellery attached inside for good measure.

So, when Manny picked up the tube lying in his in tray, opened it to find he couldn't see anything inside, then held it up over his head upside down (only to get covered in black ink from a typewriter's inner workings), he knew it was going to be one of those interesting days.

Feeling he'd better return the sentiment, he emptied the hole puncher's contents back into the capsule, and sent it back. No love lost between them, after all.

It was then that he heard the bellow coming down the hallway, echoing through the corridor as it went.

"Eva! Where's my valentine?" Eva simply turned to Don Copal, wondered bleakly why she, of all people, was being asked this, and continued typing. Accounts, sadly, refused to do themselves.

The fact that she had cards on her desk: one from him, a stack of paper circles and a surprisingly sentimental message sent that morning by Salvador probably didn't help. But, then, she wasn't planning to give out something purely for the heck of it: with Manny, it was simply an inside joke. Hence, she ignored him, and kept on typing. If she continued long enough, maybe he might get the message and leave her be, but she doubted it. Copal wasn't that type.

He continued to bluster for quite some time until she finished the sheet of paper she was typing up, ripped it from her typewriter, then replaced it with a blank one, typed '_HAPPY VALENTINES, BOSS_', and pulled it from the machine and slid it across the desk to him.

Obviously appeased (for the moment, anyway,) Copal retreated back into his office to tackle the crossword that had been in the paper that morning. Meanwhile, she inserted a new sheet into her machine (which was protesting about being blatantly abused, as it was refusing to hold the paper properly, instead insisting to have it at an angle), and typed a message to Manny.

_I love you too, Manny. How about that report you owe me from two months back?_ Folding it into an envelope, she put it back in the capsule (which now looked like a badly homemade valentine itself: all sticky and covered in dots of paper), and sent it back.

However, Manny wasn't paying attention, as Domino had waltzed into his office, and scoured the room for any hint of celebrating the season.

"Now, you see, Cal, if you were more like me…" If Manny didn't know that Dom had a punch bag in his office and sported an uppercut that would leave your jaw in pieces, he would have hit him. However, he instead had to sit through it.

"Looking at the amount of chicks that sent _me_ valentines today, I _seem_ to be luckier with the ladies than you are, Cal."

"Really? How many did you send yourself this year?"

Domino, rather than deigning him with a reply, walked along the corridor and into Don Copal's office, not really sparing a word to his secretary. Although Domino seemed like the type who would sleep with the office secretary, he didn't spare time for Eva: which she was rather thankful for (like she'd even think of going near him: she could do so much better).

"Any new disasters, suicides or deaths I should know about?" Leaning on Eva's desk, Manny got into her face and smiled, hoping for something to come up. Today was not the day for him to get entirely bored and have to spend the afternoon seeing if he could hack into Domino's computer.

"Any new progress on your report I should know about?" Manny straightened up abruptly. "Go and start it, Manny. The big boss won't stay happy for that long." However, as she finished, a shout came through the door.

"Four down: day where the Living give cards and trinkets, thirteen letters!" Eva sighed, but Manny got there first with the answer.

"The answer's Christmas, Copal," he said loudly, through the door. Eva shook her head in despair, and continued to type the invoice that was demanding her attention.

"Where's your report, Calavera?" Manny stepped away from Eva's desk, and hightailed it down the corridor into his office as fast as his legs could carry him, as the gilded door flung open to reveal a somewhat rabid Don Copal, who was obviously working himself up. Again. Well, this was no surprise, seeing as this piece of paperwork was weeks late, but Manny had been doing other things. Quite what these other things were, Eva didn't know, and she wasn't sure of she wanted to either, for that matter.

"He went down to the coffee machine, Boss," Eva told him, and you could almost feel the steam coming off him as Copal stomped into the lift. Things never got easier, did they?

However, the ping of the message system caught her attention, and she swivelled on her seat to see how much of said message was intelligible.

_Client number over the last few weeks: 0 (Domino always has them, though…)_

_Amount of Double N tickets sold: 0_

_Amount of cigarettes smoked: too many to count_

_Amount of times I've been lectured by Dom: 15 in the last week and counting_

_Number of times I've felt like sprouting myself: not enough to do anything about it_

_What I've done this week: played a lot of solitaire and drunk a lot of coffee_

_Percentage towards getting out of here: 0.03 (and falling)_

_Manuel Calavera_

Well, it was a start, but she couldn't file that. Although, it was better than his last attempt… Hence, she decided to tell him. In written form, of course: expended less energy.

_Do I need to tell Dom who borrowed his whisky last Friday to take home and drink themselves into a stupor simply because, and I quote, he felt like it?_

Seconds after she'd sent it, the reply found itself in her part of the tube.

_You wouldn't do that to _me_…_

Things never changed.

**0-0-0-0-0**

Domino had gone out to get a client. Finally. This meant Manny could see if he'd been lying about the amount of female skeletons had sent him the dreaded pink cards and entirely slushy romantic messages. Plus, he needed to replace the whisky decanter he'd 'borrowed' (ahem). Sliding through the narrow opening that he'd given himself between the door frame and the door, he poked his head into the office.

The room was completely covered in hearts, cards and chocolate.

Furtively, Manny picked the first card up, and inspected it. Sickeningly sweet message… check. Unsigned… check. He then replaced it back on the floor and picked up the next one.

The fact that it was exactly the same handwriting didn't escape him.

Half an hour later, Manny emerged from the room, reasonably sure that every card inside had been addressed to and sent by the same person. At least fifty cards sent to Domino Hurley, from (guess who) Domino Hurley. Well, _someone_ had serious Narcissism problems.

"You do realise that Dom sent himself valentines this year, right?" He asked Eva, who was packing her handbag, ready to leave.

"It wouldn't surprise me in the slightest. Write that report when you get home, Manny, or Copal will probably snap your spine tomorrow morning."

Making his way to the elevator, Manny called back over his shoulder. "No worse than threats I've had before- he'd normally be coming to my flat and snapping my spine. Definite improvement."

It was only halfway back to his flat that evening, inspecting the contents of his pockets, that he realised he hadn't given the decanter back yet.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hearts and Sparkles**

A/N: Part two, here we come. This was great fun to write; even if it did somehow delete itself halfway through, meaning I had to start all over again. Don't we all love computers? Anyways, enjoy.

**0-0-0-0-0**

It was that time of the year again, when everyone trooped out of their way to provide slushy reassurance of their undying love to their partners. Velasco was sat by his ship, joining in on the festivities, by writing a poem.

He was actually quite pleased with the opening stanza (in iambic pentameter: beat that, Olivia), and was rereading it through when something heralded from above.

It wasn't an angel, or even a cherub, which was more in tune with the proceedings. Instead, once again, he was the unfortunate soul who had to help one certain Manuel Calavera out of the drink. Again.

"What is it with you and holidays, Manny?" He asked, sighing as he took a seat. "Last time the day of the Dead, this time Valentine's day…"

Manny rubbed his head apathetically and thought before answering. "It wasn't my fault! Carla brained me with her metal detector, and I went flying. I will never understand women."

"That makes you and the rest of us, Manny," Velasco replied. "Did you get one of these through your door this morning?" He handed over a sticky brightly coloured and clashing card, which Manny took one look at and passed back, wiping the glue all over his hands on his soggy trousers.

"I did, and so did everyone else I've talked to today. Makes you wonder who sent it, doesn't it?"

No one had quite cottoned onto the fact that the person behind all of the cards was none other than Chowchilla Charlie.

Charlie had had a (rare and potentially catastrophic) rethink of tactics. Last year, he had sent cards to all the women in Rubacava, to no avail. However, if he sent them to everyone, he had double the chance of getting a date… after all, why cut out fifty percent of the eligible citizens of the city because of their gender? It made no sense.

Hence, the previous week, he had doubled his normal output of badly made cards, poor poetry, cringe-worthy chat up lines, signing it anonymously with his telephone number, and had traipsed around the city delivering them to all and sundry.

Sitting next to the phone in his flat, Charlie wondered why he hadn't received a single phone call yet.

However, if the valentine messages he had sent out were bad, they were nothing compared to Maximino's. Olivia had nearly inhaled her cigarette, holder and all, when she saw the zeppelin.

_OLIVIA—I LOVE YOU MORE THAN MY KITTIES_ was not the best show of undying love, in her opinion. The banner this particularly unfortunate phrase was emblazoned on had been hung somewhat precariously from the hot air balloon above. However, just to add insult to injury, the balloon had been painted magenta and gold, with hearts daubed on for good effect. If this wasn't enough of an insult to good taste, there was also pink heart confetti falling from it. Olivia shook her head despairingly at the sight, and walked slightly faster than usual down the bridge to ensure she didn't get covered in falling paper, finally arriving in the near safety of the Cat Track.

Of course, not that it was any better. The whole place was a tacky, gilded mess. Not that the High Rollers Lounge looked any more acceptable than the rest of the building: skeletal cherubs lined the walls under bright, clashing banners, and made Olivia want to cry at the bad taste exhibited. Give her the Blue Casket any day- in there, there was no attempt to decorate for the season, just the usual monotone décor and dim lighting.

Not that Nick was enjoying the whole day particularly either. Its only saving grace was that they were offering free champagne, which was rosé and expensive, plus being exactly what you needed when filling in large reams of paperwork.

Looking up as Olivia passed the table he'd set up shop at, he tipped his pen towards her general direction in acknowledgement. In return, she exhaled smoke over her shoulder and across to him, before continuing to Max's office. Neither of the pair had forgotten the arrangement they had planned for this evening: which was the bombshell Olivia was about to pass onto her actual boyfriend. Under the guise of poetry, as per usual.

Of course, inside Max's office, everything got a lot worse. Any idea of good taste had obviously left the building previously: red and bright pink, plus gold gilding, with gratuitous hearts and lace attached for good measure. In comparison to the room, the small, plain card Olivia had bothered to purchase (with a small amount of poetry inside for good measure) looked like the latest high fashion from Paris, rather than what she had intended: a cold shoulder.

"Max, darling," she said, standing in front of his desk, "I'm afraid our plans for this evening aren't going to happen."

Surprise crossed his face. "Why not? This is our evening."

"The beatniks are holding a poetry night, in honour of me. You know how they are; they can't resist me—what with my greatness with a microphone." Max couldn't argue with that.

"Tomorrow night is free, though: I'm sure I can make it up to you then." Not bothering to wait for his answer, she turned and left the room, decided quickly to go through the back exit of the club in order to avoid the falling confetti, and departed. She hadn't bothered to pass the card over to Max—the poetry would only be lost on him.

Walking over the bridge and back to the safety of her own club, she passed two skeletons sitting on the wall beside her, one obviously more than annoyed at someone.

"The ratbag! How could he! First it's that Colomar woman, and now some secretary! It's like he doesn't even care. I hope he stays at the bottom of the ocean!" Carla was less than amused, oddly enough, boiling into steady anger over her current problem. That current problem being Manny.

"Well, that's Manny for ya," was Lupe's attempt at reassurance. "He still thinks about Meche, ya know—he feels really bad about the whole thing."

"And yet he gets a valentine for this other woman, and what does he give me? Not even an apology for missing that date last week!"

"Ya know what? It's like he doesn't even care. I'm the one who's slaving for him checking in all those coats—it's not an easy job, ya know, but with my new system it's much easier: there's numbers and letters and everything! And then, when I try to tell him, he just glazes off and you never know whether he's listening or not… Carla, are you paying attention? I think you just stopped listening…Ooh! Someday when I leave my job and get a better one and he's left all on his own with no one to do his coat checking, because it's a really hard job, ya know, who'll he be running to? Me! That's who! And then he doesn't even give me a thank you!"

"Do you ever get the feeling he doesn't care?" Carla asked, resting her elbows on her knees.

"Yeah… like, he got a cylinder full of ink and paper circles and a note asking for a report on pink paper this morning from that Eva woman, but can he even pay his employees attention?" However, this outburst brought on another from her companion, who hadn't realised that that was the single 'valentine' that Eva had sent him.

"He got _two_ from El Marrow?! That's it. I'm going to kill him… again!" Jumping up, she straightened her skirt and marched up the path, Lupe following closely behind, wondering whether she should have disclosed that information.

This left a lone figure, staring at an envelope, standing on the side of the bridge.

Lola.

Staring hard at the envelope, she decided she had to make up her mind about this. It was a homemade card, with a picture of the sun set on it, addressed to Max, and unsigned. Last year, she hadn't had the courage to pass a card across, but this year… this year, she was going to. There. Decision made.

Making her way across the bridge, she made a beeline to the Cat Track, and into the High Rollers Lounge. Placing her card surreptitiously onto one of the tables, she scurried out, into the night, and to Toto's submarine, into the warmth.

Nick, returning to his workplace, was disgusted to find a pink card sitting on the desk that definitely hadn't been there before. Luckily, it was addressed to max rather than him, but had the sender ever heard of giving things to their recipient personally? Placing it on top of his paperwork pile with disdain, he strode to Max's office and handed over that day's finished workload before leaving the building and heading over to the Blue Casket.

Hours later, sitting in his office, Max still couldn't understand why Nick Virago, of all people, would want to give him a Valentine's Day card.

**0-0-0-0-0**

You could hear the shouts from above- an angry female voice was hacking into a hurriedly apologising man, who was trying to get a word in edgeways but failing miserably. Velasco looked up, hoping the inevitable wasn't about to happen, and put down his pen.

He was just putting his valentine into a bottle, ready to throw into the ocean in memory of his beloved, the SS Lamancha, when a plummeting figure hit the water with a splash, sending spray flying into the cold air.

"What are we going to do with you, Manny?" He said to himself more than anyone else, and went to get a rope to throw out before the unfortunate skeleton sank.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hearts and Sparkles**

A/N- C'est fini! Yup, less than a week's writing challenge later, we're done. Thanks for the lovely reviews! Have fun with Meche and Domino too, while we're at it.

**0-0-0-0-0**

Meche had never quite got the perlava that surrounded Valentine's Day. The children she'd visited (and some of the doctors, for that matter) had given her roses and cards, which she had found oddly sweet, but it meant nothing to her. Actions meant more than flimsy (if not expensive) pieces of paper.

So, when she walked into her 'office', as such, to find a large banner hung on one of the walls proclaiming in large letters 'We love you, Mr Hurley!' in exactly the same handwriting as Domino used when he printed his name on official reports and invoices, the only word that ran through her head was 'arrogant', as she sat down and began to look through what she had to do that day, in order to keep up to date.

At that point, Domino himself walked through the room, head held high. It was more of a swagger than a walk—an expression of 'oh, look at me, I'm so pleased with myself and I want everyone to know it.' Heading towards his office, he looked up almost in pantomime at the banner above the door, smirked, and closed the door behind him. Meche simply ignored him and continued to type on her typewriter.

However, inside his office, Domino thought there must have been some mistake. Everywhere he'd been that morning; no one had produced a pink card or envelope and presented it to him. Did they know what day it was? He should have a pile of appreciative tokens by now!

Even Meche had forgotten, apparently, which wasn't like her. Or, maybe she was waiting for later, and a more opportune moment. Yes… that was more like it. Not that he'd bothered to get anything for her, of course: why should he, when there were more important people (like him) out there?

Just to make sure that she hadn't completely forgotten, he picked up his CD player, stowed it in his jacket pocket, and walked out of his office, humming to the music as he walked slightly slower than before. Still, he wasn't spared a second glance, as the rhythmic tapping of keys continued.

Feeling slightly cheesed of, at best, Domino stood on the underwater balcony outside, and then returned inside so he could have a cigar. He was starting to think that Meche didn't care about the occasion, which would be a travesty, and a complete waste of a day. For a final check, he walked past her desk at a snails pace, looked pointedly at the sign above his door, and stalked into his office again, feeling slightly insulted that she hadn't even looked at him, let alone given him a card, trinket, or got onto her knees and proclaimed her undying love for him.

Meche was completely clueless as to why he had just walked through the room four times in fifteen minutes, but presumed he was in one of his funny moods again, and decided to ignore him until he returned to normal. However, Domino being normal wasn't something she particularly enjoyed either, but you couldn't have everything. When the skeleton came out of his office again (which made it five times in half an hour, more than he'd leave the room in two days normally), pretending to be overly interested in the contents of the bin, she just tried not to laugh at the twit he was making of himself, and continued to type.

"Meche, what day is it today?" He asked, looking up briefly.

"February the fourteenth, Domino," she replied, not bothering to look up, and instead continuing to fill in the form she had in front of her.

"Just making sure you're aware," he replied, and walked back into his office. The door slammed behind him, and he sat in his executive's chair, feeling he needed another cigar.

He was sure Meche was aware that it was Valentine's Day, and hadn't even bothered to make/ get hold of/ type a card. This was catastrophic. The apocalypse had come. A woman didn't find him, Domino Hurley, sexiest skeleton in the Land of the Dead, let alone the Ninth Underworld, attractive!

Yes, he _definitely_ needed another cigar.

**0-0-0-0-0**

It was the end of the day, and still nothing was forthcoming from his secretary. Well, there went his idea of trying to seduce her for the fun of it. So, as she was getting ready to finish up, he stalked out of his office, and into the corridor where she had set up shop.

"You do know it's Valentine's Day, right?"

"Yes. And?" Pulling a last piece of paper from her typewriter in triumph, she began to stack up that day's work neatly, making sure the edges were square.

"Didn't you get a valentine for _anyone_?" He asked, looking pointedly at the banner whilst leaning on her desk nonchalantly.

"Well, no. Was I supposed to?" She slid the set of papers over the desk to him. Having realised why Domino had spent most of the morning traipsing past her desk, Meche was rather enjoying this. Not that she would have bothered going to great lengths to get a flimsy paper card for someone she cared nothing for anyway; she had bigger fish to fry.

"Damn straight, you were," the reply bounced back.

"Oh, really? Who?"

Domino, deciding she was a hopeless case, flounced off, obviously not amused in the slightest, and she went to see the angelitos, who'd been neglected in favour of the large stack of work she'd received the night before.

Stepping into their room, she heard a small chorus chant an obviously rehearsed speech.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Meche!"

And, on the floor of the cage that both angelitos inhabited, was a heart made of pieces of coral, finished off by their hammers (obviously having run out of coral near to the end of the process). Meche, personally, found this more personal than all the roses and cards she'd ever been given.


End file.
